


Disclosure

by Fangu



Series: Balfran smut (and kink) collection [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Mirror Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangu/pseuds/Fangu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having full view of each other’s actions makes this more real, somehow. (Title has been changed, see notes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disclosure

**Author's Note:**

> Unexpected prompt by a thread over at thelifestream.net where someone mentioned mirrors. That's all it took. (Was: 'Mirrors'. I got that damn song stuck on my head every time I saw the title so it had to go. I was never happy with it anyway.)

When they stumble through the door into the small, rented bedroom, they are filthy, grumpy and exhausted, the only thought in their heads to wash up and then sleep, sleep for a day or preferably two. The hoist they’ve just survived was an infuriating one, taking much more time and effort than at first assumed. Balthier detests when something doesn’t go as he’s planned. Fran hates waiting too long for her reward, after a run like this being a good meal, half a bottle of Madhu and a nice lay, preferably one where Balthier is so pleased with the raid he does all the work while she gets to lay on her back and be washed with pleasantries.

She has just had her much longed for meal, too exhausted to properly enjoy it, both of them sitting in complete silence while devouring the contents of their bowls - they could be eating rat meat and they still would have guttled it down - the Madhu working solely as lubrication for their food, with a pesky side effect of making them even more tired. Getting laid is the last thing on either of their minds.

“I refuse to transfer the dirt of my everything onto these sheets,” Balthier says as he unbuckles his gun belt and loosens his vest. “I plan to sleep in them for a significant period of time. Also these cuffs --” he looks at the sleeves of his shirt with disgust. “-- I’m leaving these to be washed and properly pressed. The rest needs demudding and a good brush. My skin included.”

Fran sits down on the little wooden stool next to the bed, that tempting, wonderfully soft looking beauty calling for her, but she smells of sweat and monster leftovers and would rather sanitize her skin and wash the sand out of her hair before passing out. She studies herself in the oddly large mirror hung on the wall opposite the bed: She looks like something dragged out of a Wyrm cave. With a sigh she picks up the bag with her reserve clothes and heads for the door. She knows by the time she gets back from the bathhouse Balthier will be asleep, spread out in the middle of the bed for her to pinch with her claws to have him move just enough for her to fit in. Yet again she considers chopping off her silver locks. If only she wasn’t so vain.

¨

On her way up the stairs to their room Fran runs her fingers through her wet hair. She enters the room, strips off her shirt and shoes, getting into the bed pinching Balthier in his side with a claw, then nudges his back with a knee for him to move the last inch she needs. She smells the soap on his skin when she settles down behind him, the hair at the back of his neck tickling her nose. _Finally_ , she thinks, falling asleep but half a minute later.

¨

When she awakes, the light in the room is dampened, as if they slept through most of the day. Balthier breathes a confirmation of his satisfaction with finally being clean, warm and rested with her by his side. He slides an arm around her and presses into her from behind. The cover slides down as he does, Fran noticing their reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall of the bed. She sees the fair skin on his arm wrapped around her much tanner waist, a contrast she has always appreciated. She enjoys the sight. Carefully she pulls the cover down, working it the last part with her feet. She wonders if the mirror was placed here for this very purpose - it is an inn after all, and inns are now and then rented for other purposes than pirates in need of a bed.

Her breathing changes as she looks at the length of her nakedness in the mirror, tightly held by Balthier’s arm. On cue, his hand moves to let the knuckles of his fingers tentatively brush over a nipple, testing. She inhales. He smiles into her neck.

She watches then, as she places her hand over his and leads it downwards, moving to spread her legs enough for him to softly place a hand over where her blood has gathered and made her swell. Her arm is tall and dark as it covers his white - when she removes it, his arm contrasts against her skin as he rubs his middle finger in her wetness, before placing it where he knows she likes it, starting to work her slowly.

Sparks of pleasure tickle her as she watches his hand play her. She has never seen it from this angle before, and there is something particularly arousing about it; she can see how well his hand knows her. She lets her eyes find her own in the mirror, carefully watching her own face and the veil slowly sweeping over her eyes as he builds the tension in her.

 _I look good_ , she thinks, feeling no shame, only curiosity of her own arousal. _This is what he sees when he’s making me feel good. I like it._

She tips herself onto her back and lets Balthier’s mouth find hers, knowing his wants. He hums as he kisses her, Fran content by the level of dedication in his kisses: She can tell he wants her more than just so, a thought pushing her arousal further. There is nothing that makes her blood boil more than Balthier’s lust, especially when directed at her.

At first his eyes are closed, opening them next to watch her as she moans softly by his touch. By chance his eyes find the mirror. “Oh,” he says, eyes fixated on it. He smirks. “You were watching this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” she replies, too much teeth in her smile for Viera.

Balthier watches curiously, Fran knowing ideas are forming in his head.

“We look good,” he says. “Mmm,” she responds, running a clawed hand down his abdomen, noticing he is hard already. She caresses the skin on the inside of his thigh, then closes the tip of her fingers softly around the base of his cock, turning to meet his stare in the mirror. Watching each other like this oddly enough feels more intimate than looking straight at each other. Fran swallows. Their eyes find their way down to her hand as she starts moving it, Balthier's breathing growing heavier as he watches.

Having full view of each other’s actions makes this more real, somehow. This is them, together, as close as two people can get. It feels like a reconfirmation of the bond and the mutual attraction and lust that is between them, a realization which has jolts running through Fran’s body. She can feel herself getting wet, her needs growing as she again finds Balthier’s mouth, her hand closing firmer around his cock. As she works him, he breathes into her mouth, the movements of his own hand becoming uneven, rough even.

Fran is too wet; she itches. She needs him, the last few days of distractions only adding to her want.

She moves upwards, nimble as a cat, to position herself to grant him access. “Already?” he grins, knowing she usually takes a few more minutes to reach this level of neediness. As he settles on his side to enter her, she pulls away, a tease countering his. "You want to wait?” she says, grinding. His mouth is on her cheek, the side of her mouth, her chin. His voice is husky. “Not really.”

“Wait,” she says. “Look.” Their eyes find their way to the mirror.

They both have small smirks on their faces as they position themselves to be able to _see_ what goes on between them. Fran curls her back and lifts one leg, her heart in her throat by the oddness of the situation as she watches her lover claim her: His cock slowly pushing into her and the motions her stomach and thighs makes as he does. It is too fascinating to take her eyes off - fascinating, and arousing, watching it as primal as the act itself. Balthier lets his tongue roll over her breast as his eyes finds hers in the mirror, then starts working her, the skin on his face flushed as he goes back to watching them.

His skin has turned that suiting shade of red already. He watches, slows, closes his eyes, his mouth on her skin, then repeats. Fran breathes his kisses when his mouth finds hers, pants, watches, the pressure building fast.

“Stop watching,” she pleads as the suction inside her is too large to ignore; she wants to come, needs him to not slow. Balthier grins. “It’s not my fault you look this good,” he says as his lips find a nipple. As he starts working her determinedly the sound of penetration is liquid, the bed creaking softly under their weight. Fran moans; she can’t help it. She looks at them, looks at Balthier who looks back at her, blinking slowly as he sucks on the skin beneath her breast. When she slides a hand down for aid, carefully keeping her claw out of the way, she is soon gasping: The pleasure from her fingers mixes with the swelling caused by the sensation of his determined, stiff cock, her climax building, an inevitable force. _Now_ , she thinks, now, gods yes now, _now_ , then she bursts, her muscles clenching down on him repeatedly as she gasps her orgasm through an open mouth, her body slowly turning limp as the waves are fading. 

When she opens her eyes, Balthier is watching her, clearly amused by the sight. He’s slowed down, his efforts almost frictionless for her wetness. She leans down to have her lips meet his, his tongue caressing hers, humming his contentment into her mouth.

When she’s recovered from her first shatter she releases herself from him, grins and sits up to her knees, her hands resting on the bedpost. Balthier is not slow to follow. As he settles behind her on his knees, she sees in the mirror his cock is pointing straight upwards. He brushes her silver hair to one side over her shoulder, his hands running down her arms and waist as he kisses the skin on top of her back. He needs no aid of hands to slide into her.

Their eyes pull towards their reflection.

Balthier’s fair hands slides up her tan thigh as he studies her in the mirror, his eyes dark with lust and tease, pleased by what he sees. Fran widens her legs and arches her back, creating an image even more primal; the pressure is building again. He allows himself to go rougher on her, striking her where he knows it sparks her just right, not taking his eyes off her. Fran gasps as she watches. This should feel strange, at least a tiny bit, but it doesn’t. It is _them_.

She takes her eyes off the mirror, focusing, clenching them shut as she leans over the bedpost and comes again. Her second orgasm is always shorter and fiercer.

“Gods, Fran,” Balthier murmurs into her neck, having watched her come in the mirror.

He grabs her hips then, leading her as he wants her, watching himself fuck her, his brows furrowing as his pleasure reaches an intensity of where he risks blowing any minute. He tries slowing, but Fran will have none of it: She wants to watch. She pulls her upper body back up while pressing back to him, her eyes on his as she urges him to go on. He is so close, Fran watching him watch them with heavy eyes, his cheeks flushed and mouth half open as he runs a hand frantically up and down her thigh.

His hands are on her hips, his mouth on her shoulder, his chest curling over her back as he gasps, then moans long and hard as he comes.

It takes him moments for his rasped breathing to calm. When his eyes find Fran’s, it is through the mirror.

“You watched me the entire time, didn’t you,” he says as he kisses her shoulder, eyes shining. Fran smiles. “And I would again.”

“I opt for staying a few nights,” he grins.

Moments later they sit on the bed, Balthier’s arms around her waist, the hair on his chest tickling Fran’s back. He plants a kiss on her shoulder as he looks at her in the mirror, then moves to stroke her arm carefully, still watching her.

He doesn’t say it, but Fran knows he finds her beautiful. She is never uncomfortable having his eyes on her, should she be covered in mud fighting Wyrm, or in front of a mirror with nothing to hide.

¨

Months later, the two of them are studying the board at the Whitecap. “Look,” Fran says, “there’s a mark up in Northsward.” “Hmm,” Balthier says, taking down the bill. “Wasn’t there this inn?”

He looks at her. She looks back. Her ears flap, he grins.

 


End file.
